


He Kept His Hands to Himself(Heroes don't exist but we can pretend)

by Ash_Cassidy97



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Coulson is the most understanding person in the world, One of My Favorites, Other, Sex as a Weapon, and that's all Clint needs right now, back story, everybody wants something, nobody is innocent, not everybody knows what feelings are, people are their own enemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:44:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2422460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ash_Cassidy97/pseuds/Ash_Cassidy97
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Everybody has a start, a beginning, a moral. I guess mine is that everybody's out for something, make it on your terms."</p><p>AKA: Coulson is the most patient man in the world. Fury got your back. Clint is an unreliable narrator  and is sharp around the edges but not broken. Natasha makes a brief cameo and I will be taking all and any summary suggestions under advisement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Kept His Hands to Himself(Heroes don't exist but we can pretend)

**Author's Note:**

> I challenged myself to write unreliable, emotionally charged narrative. Please review. Flames will be used to heat arrow molds.
> 
> I correct some things, and added some things.
> 
> Please review to tell me if you liked it, want something improved, or hated it. Thank you.

tags: sex as a weapon, Coulson is the most understanding person in the world and that’s all Clint needs right now, not everybody knows what feelings are, people are their own enemies, everybody wants something, nobody is innocent

 

Heroes don't exist but we can pretend

 

* * *

 

_START_

Everybody has a start, a beginning, a moral. I guess mine is that everybody's out for something, make it on your terms.

 

It's the moral of years of running, running out of habit and spilled blood, that may have not been my fault, but why wait? That's how I got caught.

 

SHIELD. Bloody organization whose name is whispered in dark alleys, and shady cyber chat rooms. Be good, kiddies, there's things in the dark.

 

A suite cornered me in an alley way. It was the dead of winter in a southwestern American deadbeat town. I didn't shiver. Warm blood dripping from my shoulder wound, thank you, local cartel.

 

I drew my bow back. I didn't want to be the cause of more blood; I didn't want to be taken by SHIELD.

 

"Barton, we have a job offer." The Agent kept his gun up.

 

"What kinda of job?"

 

"You work for us as an agent and stay alive and out of prison."

 

"So the kinda of job where if I decline I end up dead."

 

"We want to help people. People that don't always get to be helped for bad reasons."

 

"Why? Superheroes don't exist."

 

"They should."

 

I remembered the street children, dirty and ignored, while the rich said they were helping, lies.

 

Heroes should exist but they don't.

 

"Okay." I whispered, like a secrete. I lowered my bow, and The Agent didn't shoot me.

 

I think it was the utter conviction in the guy's face that heroes should exist.  

 

I spent a lifetime learning that this deal sounded like it came with a lot of catches, but this man believed that heroes should be real. That heroes should be tangible.

 

"It's going to be okay, Barton." The Agent approached me, holstering his gun.

 

* * *

 

_PAUSE- you don't like the music, but you don’t know how to stop it- get your earplugs and buy a lock for the door_

 

It wasn't "okay".

 

SHIELD is cold, hard, and unforgiving to people that are different. They didn't keep their hands to themselves.

 

My new handler, not The Agent, was a hugger. Foster-care doesn't breath trust into children's souls, neither does the circus.

 

The missions were fine. They were tough, but good. They didn't involve that kinda murder that sat in your stomach and made you want to claw your way out of your skin, out of your life. The murder of innocents, of children.

 

I didn't have a room, just a dormitory with 50 other probies. Space is . . . .limited along with privacy. I was never a "people person", unless it was on my terms. I kept laying awake, twitching at every cough or sneeze. I ended up hitting SHIELD’s gym( the only place I was allowed to go other than my handler's office, missions or my dorm) every night until I passed out on the matts.

 

I was just showering up when Agent Colza showed up. I wasn't particularly bothered by the naked factor, I was bothered by the way he raked his eyes up and down and how I had not seen this coming.

 

Sex is a weapon. Just another damn weapon. So why did I feel strangely at the fact that Colza was running his hands up and down my wet body? Why did I want to cry? This had already happened before. Orphanages are not safe places for small children. Sex was just another weapon, always has, and will always be too me.

 

I was able to wash off the blood when he was done. That has to count for something.

 

"We have a mission tomorrow." Colza gently kissed me as he left like I was a lover, not just another power-play in a string of them.

 

I methodically cleaned up, and went back to my dorm.  Nobody asked me about the look on my face. I guess it was all normal in SHIELD.

 

* * *

 

_STOP-Fury is secretly awesome_

*2 months later*

 

My handler did not keep his hands to himself. I wasn't sleeping well. Apparently SHIELD gets worried about the second.

 

"Barton." It was The Agent.

 

"I've been sent a memo that said to report here, Sir." I stepped into his office. He was calmly sitting at a desk completing paperwork.

 

"Yes, I sent that. I'm Agent Coulson, I oversee your handler, Agent Colza. Take a seat."

 

I sat.

 

"You haven't been sleeping." Agent Coulson's eyes were the most non-judgmental gaze I've seen.

 

"Blunt." I said with a smirk.

 

"Deflection." Coulson said without missing a beat.

 

"There wasn't a question."

 

"Why haven't you been sleeping Agent Barton?" It was asked in that same dry voice, not accusing me.

 

"Have you really called me in here to ask about my sleeping habits? Do you get off on watching people sleep?"

 

"I asked you in here to see how you are doing at SHIELD. And to tell you that Agent  Colza is no longer your handler. I am."

 

"Why?"

 

"Charges of Verboten Behavior under the laws of SHIELD. Would you care to expand upon these charges, Barton?"

 

"No. What does “Verboten” mean?"

 

"Illegal behavior under the laws of SHIELD."

 

"I'm guessing you caught him on hidden cameras?" I clenched my hands to hide the shaking.

 

"I wouldn't know. The chain of evidence was handled directly by Director Fury. I was told to tell you that I am now your handler and the charges of Verboten Behavior. Barton, I don't know if Colza did anything harmful to you, let alone what it evolved. I have guesses. That's all."

 

"Anything else you want, Sir?"

 

"Yeah, you are being reassigned to room 345, private quarters. It has a lock. Deadbolt lock on the inside and keypad on the outside that prevents entrance, not exit. Here's mine and Director Fury's number. Contact either of us with any future problems. Dismissed."

 

* * *

 

_CHANGE THE SONG AND PRESS PLAY-its a different world now, but you don't buy it. Yet._

 

Everything was . . .wrong.

 

Coulson wasn't acting like he should. He kept his hands to himself. He fucking listened to me on tactical advantages. Coulson never kept me after. He never asked me out to a drink. He just seemed to want me to do my job. He kept his hands to himself.

 

"Barton?" We had just debriefed on a difficult mission involving slime monsters, and Icelandic Assassins.

 

"Yo?"

 

"Are you sleeping any better?"

 

"Why do you care?"

 

I wasn't trying to be rude. I just wanted to know the damn truth of why Coulson was being nice. And yeah, I know that's how people are supposed to act, but let's face it, everybody wants something, something they shouldn't want or can't have.

 

"I care about you and not in a sexual way, Barton. So stop acting like I'm going to jump you at any second."

 

"I don't buy it."

 

"I don't expect you to." Coulson smiled at me in his quiet way. "Why the hell would you? You don't know me."

 

I nodded at him.

 

"Just try to sleep more. And think about trusting me, okay?"

 

I didn't say that I already trusted him a long time ago. I stilled believed that heroes should exist. That didn't mean they did or that Coulson could be trusted more than his current level of 'people I trust to not shoot me in the back' level.

 

I just said "okay". I had the vague notion that Coulson belonged to an entirely new category; I just didn't know what it was. Yet.

 

* * *

 

_Change the Track- It's the same song with a different tune- you ain't fooled_

 

"Barton, talk to me."

 

I looked down my scope at the Pittsburgh cafe. Natasha Romanov sipped at her tea. The tea was cold. She had been sitting in the same spot for over thirty minutes.

 

"Sir, she's just sitting there."

 

"Barton." The word was code for, “yes, and?”.

 

"Its like the target wants to be killed."

 

"Barton." This time the word was almost questioning. Coulson speak was hard to learn, but it was worth it.

 

"Sorry, sir. I'm starting to root for her." I hastily shoved my rifle in my bag and jumped down from the rooftop ledge.

 

"Barton! Don't!" There isn't a better translation for that.

 

"Sorry , sir."

 

I scrambled down the fire escape and darted into the cafe. And yes, my rifle was hidden and I was wearing civilian clothes. I didn't let the fear show on my face or the certainty that I had just made an enemy out of the best man I knew.

 

* * *

 

_Press play- clean the blood off your fingers, pray you didn’t break everything_

*One week later*

 

I walked into the safehouse, hands above my head, eyes straight ahead. Romanov walked behind me. Coulson slipped out of the shadows, his “Oh me? Nah, I'm just a dumb suit” expression firmly in place, only the shadows and crinkles around his eyes gave off his anger.

 

“Barton. Miss. Romanov.”

 

“Sir.” Coulson sighed at me. He had realized early on, I think, that sighing at me was better than shouting.

 

“Barton, do you have any idea the amount of paperwork needed to stop you from getting locked in the brig or keep your friend from becoming an example?”

 

“Sir.” There was no excuse for what I did. I had a damn feeling and now this man, this man who had kept his hands to himself, viewed me as a traitor. I stared at my feet.

 

“Barton, you are not going to say a word to Fury unless he asks you when we get back to base. Go directly to your bunk, and stay there. Miss Romanov, I can offer you a chance. If you do not kill anybody for the next few months, and agree to work with SHIELD, then I will give you my support to change. Do not blow this. Barton and I will have to terminate you, since we will both,” I looked up, and then down again, “Be responsible for you not harming SHIELD. Agreed?”

 

“I want this chance to change.”

 

“Good.”

 

 

* * *

 

_You take the CD out- there are no fixed points in life_

 

*five years later*

 

Surprisingly it was okay.

 

Coulson, The Agent, The Man Who Kept His Hands to Himself, convinced Fury that he wanted a small guerilla task force. Coulson got both me and Nat assigned to his team. He wrapped us both up in Understanding, and Support.

 

We are not Perfect or Peaceful or Normal people. But we are Strong. Coulson made us Strong. He made us understand what Rights are and what we can and can't do.

 

Nat is blood, vodka, and butterflies all wrapped up in a Russian package. She smiles at you while looking for all the ways to end your life. I knew there was a reason why I liked her.

 

Phil finally asked me out for pizza and a beer, as friends. He knows that I am Sharp Around the Edges but not Broken.

  
  


I love his hands, that only EVER ASK for touch, for hugs. I owe him a debt. But that is Okay, because he still keeps his hands to himself, and the only red thing he brings is pepperoni and the blood of our enemies.

 

It is finally Okay to Sleep. I know that Fury, Nat, and Coulson are here and Safe.

 

Sometimes, a person just needs a chance, a shared belief that things can get better, need to get better. And I am grateful everyday for that chance.

 

 


End file.
